The structure is long gone, and the site leaves no physical clue to its former life, but the street running alongside still carries the name Windmill Lane, a quiet piece of nomenclature doing the work of preservation in the absence of anything solid to look at.

By the time the first edition Ordnance Survey six-inch sheet was compiled in the nineteenth century, the mill had already declined to something the mapmakers recorded only as a "windmill stump", suggesting the tower or post had lost its sails and working machinery well before that survey was conducted. Earlier cartographic evidence places it a little further back: John Taylor's map of the environs of Dublin, published in 1816, marks the same feature as an "old mill", implying it was already considered a relic rather than a working structure at that date. The site lay to the west of what is now Windmill Lane. Beyond these two documentary references, the historical record for this particular structure is thin, and its origins, the date it was built, and who operated it, remain unrecorded in the available sources.

There is, practically speaking, nothing to see here in any conventional sense. The present-day swimming pool and leisure facility sits where the stump once stood, and no physical trace survives above ground. What makes a visit worthwhile, if such a word applies, is the streetscape itself. Windmill Lane offers a small exercise in reading a landscape through its place names, a skill that pays dividends all over Ireland, where roads, townlands, and field names frequently outlast the features that prompted them by several centuries. Anyone with an interest in vanished Dublin topography might find it worth pausing here simply to register the gap between the name on the signpost and the chlorinated, thoroughly modern reality it now labels.